Pathetique
by Blinded Ryter
Summary: Maestro Urie, the "Orchestra Killer", is forced to perform with Maestro Ross, Prodigy Extrordionaire, with disgusted reluctance. Will music be enough to heal old wounds, or will it be the death of both Maestros? Rydon
1. The Overture

Pathetique  
By Blinded Ryter

_(Inspired by Beethoven Virus)_

I. "The Overture"

_Seven years ago..._

Excited voices hinted with ineffable joy and slight alarm could be heard beyond the back stage door as two young boys stood face to face in a dark and desolate alley. Dark brown hues locked with light caramel pools evenly. Neither of the boys faltered in gazing steadily at the other as if they were trying to see into each other's soul. For two people not nearly men, yet not quite children, there was a light of morbid sophistication shining through a cloud of anguished bitterness in their eyes.

No words were spoken.  
Not a single sound could be heard.

Everything was still and silent.

And yet, the mocking rain fell in a downpour from the bleak night skies in a soothing rhythm of what happened to be a rapid, and slightly erratic 3/4s beat to their sharp ears sub-consciously. The water was cold to their bodies, and only numbed their hearts even more. Within seconds, their hair was matted to their temples, and water already began to seep through their clothes.

The boy of shorter stature and smaller height wore the formal attire, a smartly pressed black suit, for the early graduation ceremony he performed in. George Ryan Ross III was a child of only seventeen years, and held looks that were delicately feminine, and perhaps it was the rain, but it appeared as if his eyes softening with pain were glistening with tears. The young boy appeared to be so magnificent and exhilarated under the stage lights, but now he looked simply miserable with guilt under the harsh rain.

Brendon Urie felt no pity in his heart for this boy, and this was with the consideration that Brendon even had a heart, or scrap of decent humanity to being with. His face was devoid of all emotion, but his eyes shined with cold accusation of honest betrayal, and were piercing enough to tear apart the younger boy's heart, or whatever was left of it. Brendon was simply dressed in casual clothes; a sign that he had not expected that his best-friend, his room mate, his partner was to be a part of the Privileged Graduation as in graduating from La D'Croieux, and stepping out into the real world.

"You played Beethoven's Piano Sonata #8 In C Minor, Op. 13, "Pathétique" 2. Adagio Cantabile," Brendon stated fluently, but with an undertone of bitterness in his voice.

Ryan swallowed hard, but for the first time in their years of friendship, Ryan managed to hold a steady gaze with Brendon's threatening one.

"Yes, I did," Ryan replied simply, though his voice did waver.

Brendon continued to stare at Ryan unfathomably for the longest time, and this was nerve-wracking to the younger boy. Somewhere in the midst of staring deep into those dark eyes, Ryan's emotions that had been in turmoil for the past several weeks whirled together to form something ugly and violent, and before he knew it, the atrocious words fell from his lips.

"Jealous?" asked Ryan in a casual manner as to where it was mocking.

Brendon blinked as if he had not been expecting a sudden flare of confidence from the little boy who used to be so fragile and weak of heart, but Brendon recovered instantly with his own malicious demeanor.

"You traded in humility for arrogance when you were granted Previleged Graduation?" Brendon retorted with a sneer.

"So, you are jealous," Ryan replied as he shifted his weight onto one side.

_"There is nothing to be jealous of a lying traitor!"_ Brendon abruptly barked as he took a step forward with vehement force.

"And there is no reason to keep a friend that will not congratulate you with sincerity!" Ryan countered as the young boy raised his voice.

"Congratulate you on what, _kid?_" Brendon spat with narrowed eyes that were quite fierce for a boy of nineteen years. "Lying to me? Betraying me? Leaving me?"

"I never betrayed you!" Ryan screamed with all the sheer force he had, his brown bangs falling wildly into his eyes. "I'm not a traitor!"

"Oh, really?" Brendon queried mockingly, then shouted with anger contorting his face ugly, "Well, then, what are you?"

_"I am the prodigy; you are nothing!"_

The hideous and unforgivable words escaped Ryan's lips before his mind even registered them, and once it did, Ryan recoiled physically in shock. The boy inhaled sharply, and felt his heart drop to the pits of an endless abyss as the color drained from his face, and his blood went cold.

Brendon stared blankly at Ryan, and for once, the carefully composed, hardheaded, haughty, and conceited boy lost his composure, and was struck like a dumb idiot that was blind, deaf, and mute all at once. Brendon continued to keep his incredulous eyes upon Ryan as a numbing sensation so excruciating washed over his brain, thus paralyzing it. After a prolonged moment past, the trauma lessened, and Brendon felt himself enveloped with raw hurt and sheer pain, but Brendon didn't like pain.

He hated being hurt.  
He hated being weak.  
He hated being vulnerable.

That was why Brendon took the anguish and turned it into sheer outrage. Outrage was something Brendon liked, because it wasn't lukewarm like tears of hurtful disappointment, or scalding like waves of grief; outrage was cold as the rain falling from the sky.

Slowly, Brendon's brows drew together into a glare fiercer than God's wrath, and something wicked sparked in his eyes: revenge. No words were spoken, but Ryan could clearly see that Brendon marked his revenge upon Ryan that night. There was not a single ounce of affection, fondness, or love in Brendon's heart anymore, but only odium and hatred.

"As incredulous as I was," Brendon began saying in a cold voice that held a relentless edge, "I came here to listen to you play, then eventually congratulate you, and," Brendon paused as he pulled something out of his pocket, "give you this."

Before Brendon showed what was inside the small pouch he held in his fingers, the boy hurled the thing at the ground with all the force he could muster. Startled, Ryan jumped back as something cracked sickeningly.

Brendon stood there glaring with deranged eyes at Ryan, his voice short and ragged, but for a fraction of a second, the anger dissipated into a grief that could not be phrased. Glistening tears brimmed Brendon's eyes, but Ryan must have been mistakened; Brendon Urie never cried. But whatever Brendon was trying to restrain himself from doing, it was painful for Ryan to watch. There was raw hurt stricken across the boy's face, and disbelief shining in his eyes, and for once, Brendon appeared to be so vulnerable and weak and wronged.

"And to think that you were my Immortal Beloved," Brendon remarked not in a cold hiss, or a cruel rebuke, but in a barely audible and weary voice that declared himself of being a navie foolish boy.

It was a cracking voice that held too much emotion, a voice that undid Ryan's heartstrings with each strained syllable. A tear began to trickle down Brendon's face, but the boy wiped it away angrily, and turned his head to the side.

As the boy's words were left to echo softly in the air, he turned on his heel, and walked away, far far away from the alley, from his best-friend, his partner in crime, his Immortal Beloved without ever looking back.

Seconds, minutes, moments past as the rain continued to fall, and Ryan stood underneath it in a lifeless state. Slowly, the boy lowered his eyes from where Brendon used to stand, and to where the pouch laid upon the wet floor. Ryan picked up the pouch, and loosened the string. Two split pieces of deep blue sapphire fell into Ryan's opened palm. The two pieces were originally one pendant in the shape of a small crystal pillar hung upon a small silver chain. The split pieces could easily fit into each other, but they could never be held in place like its whole once did.

Ryan tried to look at the precious gemstone pendant, but his eyes were too blurred by tears.

Brendon wanted to give him...this?

Of all things, _this?_

Holding the broken sapphire pieces close to his throbbing and aching chest, Ryan Ross, who believed he had gained so much, but lost the only thing that mattered in the world, collapsed onto the floor, and cried with only the rain as his witness.

---

Blinded Ryter: I just discovered that band slashes can be posted on . Yes, I am quite the slow one. The reason I haven't been writing updating my anime stories is, because I've been on Mibba and writing dozens of Rydons (literally) due to the lack of writer's block for The Last Stand and Bright Red Scream. Anyways! I will be transferring all of my Mibba stories onto this account. Feedback is greatly appreciated (:


	2. The Revenant

Pathetique  
By Blinded Ryter

_(Inspired by Beethoven Virus)_

II. "The Revenant"

Brendon Boyd Urie loathed, hated, and despised prodigies with a burning passionate hotter than the pits of Hell. Merely the word "prodigy" set flames of rage to flicker ferociously in his eyes, and if an object was held within his hand at the moment he would hurl the thing straight at the floor harshly enough to crack the ground apart, and loudly as to where people's ears would ring.

Never breaking out of his choleric antics, Brendon Urie didn't hesitate to throw the damned scoresheet onto the ground. The young man was seething in scorching anger for a silent moment as his brows drew together, and his jaw clenched tightly. His hands balled into such tight fists that his nails nearly cut into his palm if not for the sub-conscious knowledge that he could never harm his hands; after all, he was a conductor, and hands were quite the delicacies for any fine artist.

Nonetheless, Brendon Urie wanted to hit someone.

No…no, that was too mild, too undersaid.

Brendon Urie wanted to kill someone, then follow that person to Hell, so he could continuously murder the person for eternity.

"Excuse me?" Brendon Urie asked slowly and with such an edge to his voice that the Chairman cringed visibly. "I must have heard you wrong. Would you mind repeating it once more, sir?"

Edgar Hollen, the Chairman of Musical Genome in the England department, wringed his hands nervously, and anyone that confronted Brendon Urie before could not blame the poor man. Maestro Urie was known for unleashing a wrath fiercer than God's, and speaking words colder than Jack the Frost's breath. To negotiate and compromise with Brendon Urie had to take a miracle. It was truly difficult to do business with Brendon, but it was the Chairman's duty to propose the idea, and so he did it with nerve-wracking fear and dreadful reluctance.

"Well, Mister Urie," the Chairman began replying after clearing his throat several times, "the Musical Genome of England would like it if you and George Ryan Ross III…"

Brendon contorted his face in disgust at the full title of that bastard's name; it was only another reminder how much "better" Ross was, because he even had more words to his name than Brendon's, and the oh-so fancy Roman numerals. What was Ross? A king?

"We were hoping that you and Maestro Ross would perform in the next Caradell Festival in a piano and violin concerto, and conduct a few pieces yourself-"

"I refuse," Brendon flatly declared.

To conceal his discomfort, the Chairman strained a smile.

"Well, it's quite well known that you and Maestro Ross have a history that travels back," the Chairman began saying, having no idea how much of a dire mistake he was making by referring to the two conductors' past. "I heard that you two were very close friends-"

"Nonsense," Brendon interrupted coldly, his brown eyes darkening to the shade of night. "Whatever rubbish you heard, please forget it, because I was never fond of Ross once in my life, or will I in days to come."

"But…" the Chairman's voice trailed off as he sighed deeply, then straightened up again. "The Queen and the Prime Minister are calling the other countries for this event, and it has been such a long time since either of you played rather than conducted-"

"I _refuse_," Brendon repeated with heavy and sickening emphasis on 'refuse', "to have anything to do with Ross."

"Why, sir?" the Chairman cried in exasperation. "Why?"

Brendon glared hard at the Chairman, then lowered his gaze to the score. After a prolonged moment, he knelt down, and picked up the score. Brendon began reading the suggested score slowly.

As deeply dark eyes read the notes, the world around Brendon fell silent, and vanished into air for he could only hear, see, and feel music. The conductor could hear the beautiful rising and dips of the musical arpeggios, the skillful scales, and variations of melodies in his head clearly, but when the thought of Ross being in the picture entered Brendon's hair, the notes clashed, the melodies fell apart, and the music turned into something sickeningly distorted.

The conductor took his time closing the score neatly, and smoothing out the pages as he restrained the impulse to shred the score apart, but he would never do that. It was not the piece's fault that the music sounded terribly aghast in Brendon's mind, but only Ross was to blame, because Ross tainted everything and anything in Brendon's life.

After a lingering second, he raised his eyes back to the Chairman.

"I am a musician, sir," Brendon answered simply, but with a sneer to his extremely supercilious voice of caustic mockery, "and merely hearing Ross tinker one single note on his keys will force me to go take a shower right away, so that I may wash out the dirty wax that gathered in my ears very, _very_ hard," said the conductor, raising a hand by his ear, and pretending to scrub it with quick flicks of the wrist to add onto the incredulous arrogance of his words. "If I cannot hear, how could I play?" Brendon queried lightly with raised eyebrows before scowling the instant after as he barked, "Precisely, I could not, and I will not!"

The Chairman's jaw fell slack at such crude and sarcastic words. Leaving the Chairman rendered speechless, Brendon set the score handed earlier to him on the Chairman's table, and turned to leave the Chairman's office with his small leather bag in his hand. Returning to his senses, the Chairman began trailing after Brendon who took long, yet brisk strides with a rather haughty step to his walk.

"Please, Mister Urie!" the Chairman began pleading. "Please, at least consider it! H-here!" the chairman quickly pulled out his card, and slipped it into Brendon's breast pocket, then patted it as he put his desperate prayers into the card. "Call me when you change your mind-"

Brendon Urie came to such an abrupt halt, and wheeled around that the Chairman nearly staggered back. Brendon stood with a dangerous air forming around him, and the heat of anger and hatred was nearly radiating off of his skin.

"I will not change my mind," was all the conductor said, before turning, and taking his leave.

The Chairman began protesting, but didn't have enough energy to follow the conductor anymore. It took more than half of his efforts to even get Urie into his office, then the rest of his efforts to explain the proposal after the words "George Ryan Ross III" slipped from his lips. Though, the Chairman was genuinely befuddled as he watched Brendon Urie stalk away, and turn the corner at the hall.

It was known fairly well how Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross met at a young age in Julliard, and then even went to La D'Croieux together. Surely, brilliant artists kept close friendships, right?

Though, the Chairman had his doubts. Brendon Urie, the "Orchestra Killer", was the most arrogant and cold-hearted man anyone could ever confront in history, and ages to come. His clever tongue was sharp with wit that was only malicious and cruel from beginning to end. It was said, and proved once you met him, that Brendon had no regard for another human being, and Brendon even agreed with that; he didn't give a damn about anyone else.

Once, Brendon even said to an orchestra a few years after just a single practice session that they sounded utterly atrocious, so they should use their instruments for the firewood of the Hell they would go burn in, because they were a sheer disgrace to music.

And then, Brendon left that orchestra, or rather, destroyed its fabrication to non-existence. He wasn't only brilliant in music, but in the art of dismantling fragile minds. People lost dreams and hopes; even Mariah Moss, the world's best cello player, gave up her instrument after playing in an orchestra Maestro Urie conducted.

As brilliant of a musical mastermind he was, Brendon Urie was never satisfied with any orchestra, hence his trend of moving from one orchestra for another within months. Never in his life had he stayed with an orchestra for more than six months; if he did, he would probably go deaf.

The best of musicians in the world always trembled in fear at the name of Brendon Urie, and nearly wanted to die when they joined his orchestra, but when people heard of George Ryan Ross III, they were willing to give their life away after playing in just one practice session with the conductor.

Ryan Ross was nothing like Brendon Urie, and as people always said behind Brendon's back _(and quite sharp ears),_ Ryan was said to be "kinder", "friendlier", "more talented", "more brilliant", "more gifted", and "better" than Brendon. Plus, Ryan Ross was a prodigy. Even if Ryan got ugly scores and rankings throughout his life, he would still be declared "great" and "brilliant" just, because he was a goddamn prodigy.

People marvled like idiots at how Ryan was the youngest boy to enter Julliard, scouted the fastest, and entered La D'Croiuex, the world's best music academy, as the youngest (and most talented, gifted, brilliant) student. He was the youngest student to graduate from the French academy, youngest conductor in centuries, and the best one since the ages of Beethoven, Mozart, Vivaldi…

Ryan Ross was always a "-est", "first", or the "prodigy," and Brendon?

Brendon Urie was nothing.

Even Ryan Ross said it himself.

_"I am the prodigy; you are nothing!"_

Let the world think and gossip as much as they wished, but Brendon's heart, considering that the cold bastard of a man had one to begin with, held steady otherwise when it came to Ryan Ross.

After Brendon turned the corner, and began taking a few steps down the empty corridor, he came across a series of portraits of Ryan Ross in various ages hung upon the wall. Brendon came to a halt, and stared unfathomably at these posters and large pictures with narrowing eyes.

Each photo of the prodigy was portrayed beautifully whether he stood underneath the stage lights conducting a magnificent orchestra, or a candid shot of the young man or boy smiling, depending upon when the picture was taken. Though Ryan was only twenty-five-years now, a considerably young age for a man of his status, he still held that cherubic, innocent face about him.

Gazing at these photos, Brendon could still recall how Ryan's soft brown locks wisped like silk through his fingers, or how Ryan's vivid caramel hues would always warm up when they turned their gaze to Brendon. Those long slender fingers bent at the angles of a dancer's when holding a baton once caressed Brendon's cold cheek in the winters tenderly. Those brilliant smiles lit up even more when Brendon complimented Ryan, and that light-hearted laughter of his, a sound of bells chiming, still echoed in Brendon's head.

But the laughter, the giggles, the whispered sweet-nothings, and "Je t'aime"s…no, those were insignificant in Brendon's mind, because the only thing he could hear were those deafening famous last words spat from Ryan's mouth eight years ago.

_"I am the prodigy; you are nothing!"_

Like Hell was Brendon Urie going to fall under sentimental nostalgia; no, he wanted to murder that face portrayed in these pictures. The anger rising within him too rapidly was blinding the man's vision with sheer red, and his insides began to churn sickeningly as to where Brendon truly wanted to vomit.

Using his free hand, Brendon began to rip the frames off the wall. One, two, three…! Frame after frame, the deranged and furious conductor tore down the frames, and threw them across the floor. The wooden frames clattered against the marble floor, only to break, and spread splinters across the smooth surface. Sharp edges tore the photos, and soon all goddamn nine photos were dismantled and strewn across the hall. Brendon hovered over the destroyed pieces breathing erratically, and shaking visibly with anger. His eyes happened to fall upon a photo of Ryan as he performed his graduation piece in La D'Croieux. Memories too vivid and clear of what occurred after Ryan's performance flashed by Brendon's eyes that wavered with rage.

The alley.  
The rain.  
The argument.

_"I am the prodigy; you are nothing!"_

Without a glance behind his shoulder, Brendon Urie turned his back to the disaster he created, and continued walking down the hall.

-x-

Car drives with Maestro Urie were commonly silent ones, but Gerard Way, Urie's personal chauffeur, and errand boy for that matter, noticed something deadly hostile about the air Brendon carried with him as he climbed into the sleek black vehicle. Gerard sighed inwardly, for he could already tell that dealing business with the Chairman, whatever it may have been about, went foul, and Gerard himself would be the one to endure the Maestro's verbal blows which were far worse than any physical attack.

And yet, the young boy of seventeen years couldn't help, but glance at the rear mirror occasionally with concern in his hazel eyes. As maligently blunt and impossible his employer could be, Gerard found Mister Urie to be a quite pleasant man at times, and something of a father figure.

Gerard could also see something in Maestro Urie that the world did not: honesty.

Unlike the rest of mankind that spoke viciously about others for their own entertainment behind people's backs, Maestro Urie, as cold and brutal as he was, always gave the truth and only the truth.

Gerard loathed those that lied, especially his parents and any social worker, so naturally Gerard liked the honest Maestro very much. At least, on most days he did.

"Keep your eye on the road, Boy," Brendon snapped from the diagonal passenger seat with his eyes on the window.

"Yes, sir," Gerard replied with ease; their one-sided bantering had long become a routine.

There was a pause within the car as the vehicle cruised down the streets of busy London. People of all ages were already up and about. Brendon watched the people as if they were merely decorations to the streets, and blended in with them. He did not see a single walking creature as a living, thinking, breathing human being. They were nothing, but feeble minded creatures that danced in an eternal masquerade with words of faux affection slipping off the tip of their tongue. Over the years of living in his permanent home in London every few months in between his breaks, Brendon came to realize that the English folk were too patient, too tolerant. They bit their tongue, they suppressed their anger.

Brendon hated patient and tolerant people.

_(And Ryan Ross happened to be the worst of them all)._

Brendon's attention drifted away when the first track on a new disc in the car's stereo began to play in an adagio cantabile tempo. It was a simple, yet beautifully soothing piece with a moderate melody that danced together with the low waltz-like harmony. It was a melody that easily stuck in one's head, but even Gerard could taste the melancholy of the piece. Nonetheless, Gerard was mesmerized, and fell in love.

Falling in love with people was incredulous, but Mister Urie always said that falling in love with music was the only rational thing in the world.

Brendon, on the other hand, contorted his face the moment he heard the first two notes. He recognized the piano piece instantly, and for the sake of music and Beethoven Brendon tolerated it when ever he heard it, but it was an entirely different story today. That riveting sorrowful air, the grieving undertones, the subtle bittersweet hints could only be produced by one man's fingers.

For a fraction of second, images too vivid and clear played by Brendon's eyes faster than the speed of light. The stage lights pouring from above, the boy bent so lovingly over the ebony and porcelain keys, the deafening applause, the rain, the alley, the tears, the shouting, the betrayal, the unspoken good-bye, and the irony.

The irony of being that he played Brendon's favorite piece as his departure performance:

Beethoven's Piano Sonata #8 In C Minor, Op. 13, "Pathétique" 2. Adagio Cantabile

"What album is this?" Brendon almost barked with fierce eyes.

Gerard flinched at the sudden outburst, and nearly missed the upcoming turn. Catching his breath, Gerard nervously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Ah, w-well, Mister Urie…" Gerard stammered, avoiding his employer's eyes.

"Spit it out!" Brendon shouted impatiently. "Have you gone retarded in the communication department within just seconds?!"

"N-no, sir," Gerard answered, stuttering once more. "Someone from the Music Genome sent it as a gift a while ago-"

"Give me the disc," Brendon cut in with a steady voice that could not be fathomed.

Gerard glanced at the mirror for a second before muttering a "Yes, sir", and obeying the command. He ejected the disc, and handed it to his employer at the next stop before a red light. After the disc was rudely snatched out of his fingers, Gerard turned his attention back to the road with a shaky breath.

Brendon held the disc to his eyes, and the moment he saw those elegant cursive print across a supposedly vintage background of some morose fields imprinted on the disc, Brendon felt his chest tighten with unspeakable wrath. His vision began to blind with tints of red at the sight of the pianist and conductor of the album.

_"George Ryan Ross III"_

Gerard was attempting to discreetly observe Mister Urie from the mirror with nervous eyes that only grew wide with shock when the man snapped the disc in two. Brendon did it in such a casual fashion, thus exacerbating Gerard's shock even more. Then, Brendon broke the two pieces into four jagged fragments. Sickening cracks split in the air before Brendon rolled down the window, and as the car was running across a bridge, he tossed the shiny fragments out of the window. The pieces were carried beyond the edge of the bridge by an early autumn gust before they fell into the vast lake only to sink down to an endless indigo abyss.

Gerard continued to stare incredulously with a blank face, and parted lips while the conductor rolled the window back up, and resumed his bird watching, per se. As tranquil and placid the conductor appeared to be, Gerard could see an intense flame flickering dangerously in Brendon's dark eyes. It was the most hatred and odium Gerard ever saw a human being expressed. Fearing a terrible rebuke from the Maestro, Gerard kept silent as he continued to drive.

After a few minutes past, the car entered a more secluded and prestigious district of London where several complexes of town homes, small, yet luxurious houses with views to the lakes and valleys and endless sky, were located. Brendon resided in the Lorrens Lake complex, and just happened to live in the house that was completely isolated and detached from the other houses due to the woods and other shrubbery surrounding it. One could say that the location of Brendon's house expressed his love for nature, while the rest of the world would promptly declare that it showed only his strong repugnance for the human society. Brendon would say both were true.

Gerard pulled the car up by the path, and in front of the small white house with its simple doors and sparse windows, and cut clean lawn. Gerard quickly turned off the motor, and climbed out of the car to open the door his the Maestro. Brendon got out of the car, and as Gerard closed the door behind him the sound of heavy gasps could be heard growing louder from their left. Brendon and Gerard looked to the side to see that Frank Iero, the Lorrens Lake complex messenger and Brendon's housekeeper, was running towards them. The two men blinked as Frank came to a stop before them, and took a moment to catch his breath. Once he was composed, the child looked up with wavering eyes and a flushed face.

"I was looking for you, Mister Urie!" Frank exclaimed with his usual habit of putting his hands to his chest. "S-someone just dropped by earlier at the Main Office with papers that claimed was to reside with you," the boy explained in a nearly incomprehensible ramble. "The manager had no choice, but to give him a s-spare key-"

"And he did this without my knowing? My permission? My grant?" Brendon yelled, raising his voice with each question.

On most cases, Gerard would have interfered not to defend Frank, but to hold the boy back from clawing at Brendon's throat. Frank Iero was a terrifically talented pretender. He could act like the sweetest and most timidly innocent child in the world, but when people like Brendon trampled across his dignity and pride, the boy showed his true colors that were darker than any shade of night.

"Whatcha hollerin' at me for?!" Frank shouted as he balled his small hands into tight fists, and dropped the act. "I was doing you a favor by telling you-"

"Then you must have come ready to take the blame, right?" Brendon cut in like a sharp blade.

"Why, you ol' phony goddamn geezer-!" Frank began screaming as he attempted to make a charge at the older man, but Gerard didn't even need to interfere on this part; Frank was so short and small for a thirteen-year-old that Brendon could simply reach his arm out at full length, and keep the boy back by holding his head away from him.

It could have been a comical sight to observers, but it was only exasperating to Gerard and the birds flying above.

"Why are you not in school?" Brendon asked with an edge to his voice. "In the name of Beethoven, you're only thirteen! What, are you planning on dropping out?"

"And what if I am?!" Frank shouted as he snapped his head up, and scowled ferociously at Brendon with eyes that were leaning towards being moist; it was as if Brendon tampered with a sensitive thread. The boy withdrew by taking a few steps back, and took a stance of defense as he nearly trembled with anger. "What are you going to do about it, _sir?_" the child rebuked with mockery to his last word.

"Frank..." Gerard began to say in a soft voice.

"Yes, Gerard, go ahead and mollify this child," Brendon interrupted with a nasty sneer. "Speak pretty words that are only rooted from pity and self-conscious. Fill his head with false hopes and vain dreams, inspire him to get his arse back into school, and motivate him to do something with his life when in reality it will not and cannot account to anything!"

Brendon sharply turned on his heel, and marched towards his front door while Gerard pulled Frank back from the child's attempt to lunge at the Maestro. Brendon swiftly unlocked the door, and nearly kicked the door open before slamming it close, and shutting out the annoysome noise of Frank's vile curses and swears. Goodness, was that what schools were teaching these days?

Brendon stood with his back to the closed door as he let out a heavy breath, and ran his hand through his dark locks in stress that only grew with each passing second. As Brendon was lowering his hand to his side, he froze when he heard a faint sound…no, music drifting and weaving through the corridors softly. For a second, Brendon mistook it as the disc in the car was playing in his mind, but he was listening to live music. Brendon felt his heart plummet several leagues for his sharp ears could pick out each note, each chord with no trouble.

Beethoven's Piano Sonata #8 In C Minor, Op. 13, "Pathétique" 2. Adagio Cantabile

As soon as the initial shock vanished, a scalding heat began to rise within Brendon again. The man stormed down the halls, and into the music parlor of resonating and sound-proof walls, and glistening ebony marble that appeared like thin black ice. Brendon came to a halt when the piano and the back of the pianist came into view.

The pianist swayed his small and delicate frame in synch with the soft melody of the piece. His elegantly slender fingers didn't run across the ebony and porcelain keys, but glided over them as if he was running his hands over water. His head tilted, nodded, and lowered in a rhythm that was beautiful eyes, and with each dramatic change his movements changed like a slow and lazy yet warm autumn air wisping through the trees. The shafts of light pouring through the French windows cast upon his form to let him radiate softly with an ethereal glow.

Brendon continued to stand there with a mind wiped blank, and truly believed he traveled years and year back. Brendon saw a nine-year-old sitting before the piano in ancient and forgotten room in Julliard, then a thirteen-year-old at Early Graduation, then a seventeen-year-old at a magnificent stage set up solely for him.

And now, Brendon could see a small child, a little boy, a young adolescent that came of age playing except now, he was…better.

He sounded better than ever.  
_Better than anyone else in the world._

Fear hovered around Brendon's heart like icy cold fingers. It was the same kind of fear Brendon felt as a child, a boy, an adolescent, and somewhere deep down, as a man. Brendon felt more threatened than ever. This was no innocent soul, no angel playing in his parlor, but the Devil himself sent from the pits of Hell to destroy everything Brendon created.

The cold fear was swamped by fiery outrage as Brendon stalked up to the pianist, and gripped him tightly by the shoulder to wretch him out of his playing. Startled, light doe brown hues raised to meet furious onyx, and instantly Brendon regretted coming face to face with those vivid and brilliant caramel eyes, because he could still see that naïve and childish light shimmering from its depths. Such a light could only come from dreamers, and Brendon Urie loathed dreamers, because they were utterly the most inane and foolish people in the world that believed in hope, faith, and love.

Oh, how _sickening._

Brendon was not surprised to see the young man's fair face light up so radiantly with a silly smile that Brendon almost cringed at the innocence and affection of it. The light-hearted laughter was not like that of bells, but of something so…so painful to Brendon's ears.

"Brendon!" the young man exclaimed with ineffable joy as he instantly rose, and turned to face the other man.

"Ross," Brendon replied with usage of the Maestro's surname as he withdrew his hand from Ryan's shoulder; it was a silent gesture of their rift.

Just as Brendon was about to literally ask what the Hell Ryan was doing in his house, Ryan laughed again with the light dancing in his eyes.

"I missed you so much!" Ryan squealed quite childishly for his age before engulfing Brendon in a warm embrace.

Brendon staggered back for he was utterly horrified by this gesture. His eye twitched as his guts began to churn sickeningly, and God, he Ryan did not let go of him, and get the Hell out of his sight this very instant, he was going to vomit.

Brendon felt the acerbic taste of bile in the back of his throat when Ryan kissed his cheek lightly, then drew back to smile at him with warmth softening his eyes.

"Oh, look at how handsome you are," Ryan remarked with complete obliviousness of how sickeningly he was making Brendon feel. Ryan giggled as he tilted his head, the fringe of his bang curtaining over one eye. "It's been too long."

"Not long enough," Brendon retorted snidely, then broke away from Ryan to take a few steps back. He cast a glance at his piano for a moment, and grimaced; he would have to clean the keys thoroughly, because now they were filthy by Ryan's touch. Brendon turned his gaze back to Ryan, and glared hard at him. "Ross, what the Hell are you doing in my house?"

"It's Ryan, silly," the younger man replied as he pushed the fringe out of his eye. "And it's not your house, but our house. You and me. Me and you. Brendon and Ryan. Ryan and Brendon!" Ryan sang childishly with sweet laughter that could woo any girl's heart.

Brendon blanched for a second before recovering with a full rise of seething anger.

"Excuse me?" Brendon asked slowly in a growl.

"The Chairman said I was to stay with you," Ryan chimed, then pulled a piece of folded paper out of his pocket, and revealed it to Brendon where his signature was scripted at the bottom. "You even signed it," said Ryan, then giggled as he tucked the paper away, and clapped his hands in delight. "It'll be like old times again when we dormed together! I'm so excited!"

Brendon stared incredulously at Ryan with an unfathomable face. Brendon was not rendered speechless, because of the evidence (though, he must have signed the permission parchment without a second thought and not bothering to read the ridiculously fine print), but because of Ryan Ross himself.

Brendon clenched his fists, and his face began to contort at the atrocious and ugly memories of their last and thought to be final encounter. Brendon could not register Ryan's delighted and welcoming behavior at all. How could someone speak such cruel words and commit such unforgivable acts, then return years later as if nothing ever happened?

"Get out," Brendon demanded in a steady voice.

Ryan was never the one to take things seriously, so he only grinned silly.

"Oh, you need to stop being so serious-"

_"Get. out.,"_ Brendon repeated as if he was ready to murder anyone in broad daylight.

"But I have nowhere else to go," he whined with an (adorable) pout.

Brendon pulled out his wallet, pulled out a few crisp pounds, then threw them at Ryan with the same harsh force as when he hurled the pendant at the ground seven years ago. Ryan flinched and yelped in surprise. Colorful paper fluttered to the ground as Brendon stood with heavy breathing, and a livid face.

"Go use that for a cab and a hotel," Brendon said between heavy gasps, then barked viciously, _"but you will not be staying here, nor do anything to ever see me again!"_

Ryan looked up at Brendon with those ridiculously big eyes of his.

"Why are you so upset?" he asked softly in a genuinely innocent voice of confusion.

_"Don't you remember?!"_ Brendon screamed, and causing Ryan to take a step back while cringing. "Don't you remember that God forsaken night?!"

"What, that night at the alley?" Ryan queried with blinking eyes, then added with an incredulous scoff, "Goodness, Brendon! That was seven years ago! You were always the one telling me to grow up, but you still haven't gotten over such a childish matter-"

A muted slap pierced through the air. A heavy atmosphere formed around the two men as Brendon lowered his hand, and Ryan continued to stare at the ground with his head turned to the side in shock. The initial impact of the backhand was muted and dull, because Brendon's nail broke Ryan's skin. Four jagged and parallel lacerations upon Ryan's cheek began to flare with tints of red. The light cuts themselves nor the backhand stung, but indeed Ryan's heart ached with sheer travail and raw hurt.

Brendon let his eyes linger upon Ryan, and as he did so, he felt not a single twinge of guilt or regret; if not anything, he wanted to shred Ryan apart that very moment. After a moment of silence, Brendon turned his back to Ryan, and walked out of the parlor, and into his bedroom all the while ignoring Ryan's calling protests.

Brendon slammed the door behind him, and stood idly in the room for a frustrating second before grabbing the night lamp, and hurling the object at the wall with a distorted cry of rage. The sound of shattering glass pierced his ears, and was followed by heavy pieces falling to the carpet.

But no matter how many things Brendon threw at the wall or destroyed, his chest still hurt.

What was this?

Pain?  
Brendon Urie was feeling…emotional pain?

_'That was seven years ago! You were always the one telling me to grow up, but you still haven't gotten over such a childish matter!'_

_'I am the prodigy; you are nothing!'_

"You idiot…" Brendon muttered underneath his breath with dismantled pieces strewn all around him, and the atmosphere hot and suffocating. "Don't you know that I wish I could forget everyday of my life?"

---

Blinded Ryter - Beethoven's Piano Sonata #8 In C Minor, Op. 13, "Pathétique" 2. Adagio Cantabile is my favorite piano piece. I will also be referring to some more classical pieces, so you should look them up on YouTube when you have the time (: It will definitely be worthwhile.

Feedback is greatly appreciated! Thank-you for reading :]


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